


Seal Your Doom Tonight

by belgardebells



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Blizzards & Snowstorms, F/M, Smut, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-01
Updated: 2016-11-18
Packaged: 2018-04-26 15:17:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5009716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/belgardebells/pseuds/belgardebells
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's freezing outside on the day Clarke and Bellamy head home for a Halloween visit in his ancient, beat-up truck with its crappy radio reception and faulty heater. To make matters worse, it starts blizzarding when they're halfway there, so they have to pull over on the middle of the highway and wait for it to clear up.<br/>However, when Clarke's temperature drops and they're forced to do what they can to retain body heat, things get very complicated very fast.</p><p><i>"It's not gonna be weird, right? Won't change anything?"</i><br/>"No. It won't change anything."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. All Day Long My Heart Was Beating

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the Spooky Scary Skeletons song.  
> DANGER: things between our beloved leads are gonna dramatic real quick. I fricken warned you.
> 
> Aight, let's get weird.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from the song It Was Always You - Maroon 5

-  _For my whole life, we never crossed the line, only friends in my mind, but now I realize. It was always you. -_

* * *

"I fucking hate global warming."

Clarke Griffin was sitting at the window of a large convenience store, tapping her foot on the floor and glaring outside. There was a warm coffee to-go held tightly against her freezing fingers and she was absolutely not having this storm. It was the 29th of October at 11:30 in the morning and the Halloween decorations on the store across the street were completely weighed down with snow. The clouds only opened up thirty minutes ago, but the street and sidewalks were already thickly coated, mostly slush, though, since the traffic on both was plenty. There had been no warning of the foul weather (Clarke had been checking the internet for the past week), and yet there it was, falling down so thickly that it was difficult to see through.

Her best friend's brother, aka her travelling companion, Bellamy Blake sat across from her with a smirk on his face. He was bundled up in a thick hoodie and light jacket with a black beanie pulled down over his ears, looking warm as ever, but the way he was holding his hands together suggested otherwise. Earlier, Clarke had prompted him to grab a coffee, but for whatever reason, he'd insisted he wasn't cold. Probably to try to prove to her that she was wrong to complain about how absolutely freezing it was in his vehicle ("It's not even that cold." - "I can see my breath, Bellamy.").

"It's not 'cause of global warming," he said, leaning his elbows on the table to bring his hands to his mouth, trying to heat them with his breath. "It snows around this time every year."

"This isn't your average snow, Bellamy," she said, gesturing outside. "Look at it. The snowflakes are the size of my thumbnail."

"You have small thumbnails."

"Should we just head back?" she asked, ignoring him and feeling hopeful at her idea. She'd much rather be tucked away in her cozy dorm room than have to sit in Bellamy's ice cold truck for another two and a half hours. "Maybe we can try to make the trip out tomorrow."

He shook his head, turning his attention outside.

"The roads will be worse tomorrow than they are now."

"Oh, Bellamy," she sighed, shaking her head at him in mock disappointment. "Everyone knows not to drive during the first snow fall. That's how you die."

"The truck has winter tires," he said dismissively. "It'll be fine."

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, your truck. What about every other vehicle out there?"

"Calm down, Princess. We'll make it through."

"Only if we don't freeze to death first," she muttered, because Bellamy's stupid five-hundred year old truck's heater broke last week and it was seriously cold outside.

He didn't seem fazed by it, though. "It's only a two hour drive after we get out of the city."

"That's a long time without a heater, Bellamy."

"I have a space-heater in the back," he objected, and when Clarke rolled her eyes at him, he mockingly rolled his back.

"For all the heat it lets off, it might as well be an old person breathing on me."

Bellamy snickered, bowing his head to hide his laugh, but she saw his shoulders moving.

"Anyway," she said, trying to mask her pride at making him laugh. "We should get some blankets or something before we get on the road."

He lifted his head and nodded, crossing his arms on top of the table, a small smile still on his face.

"Yeah, we could do that. Maybe some heat packs, too."

"And I think I want another sweater. I'm also kind of hungry."

Bellamy laughed once, shaking his head and pulling back from the table, starting to rise.

"I only have like, three hundred dollars in my bank account right now so keep that in mind."

"I have my own money," she said, sliding off the chair and following him to the door.

"My shitty truck is the one causing problems, so I'll buy."

"So you  _do_ know your truck is shitty," she said with a smile, walking past him when he held the door for her.

"Obviously," he said on his way to the driver side. "It doesn't even have a heater."

Forty-five minutes later, they were back on the road heading out of the city with all their rations scattered on the seat. The water and food (mostly junk food) sat between them along with several reusable heat packs that were on sale for six dollars a piece. She'd already divided the blankets equally, three for each of them. Bellamy had stayed in the truck while Clarke ran into the department store with his card. When she'd returned fifteen minutes later, he didn't say a word about what she bought. He'd sighed heavily and shaken his head, but he didn't chastise her, which was better than she was expecting. And then she noticed that he drank all her coffee while she was shopping. So that explained it. She'd made quick work of unfolding the blankets and tucking Bellamy in (ignoring his half-hearted grumbles) as he pulled out of the parking lot. She maybe let her hands linger on him for a few extra seconds, and she might have been smoothing out the blankets over his arms and back when she really didn't need to, but if Bellamy noticed, he didn't say anything. After pulling on the thick sweater she bought over her other hoodie, she quickly put her jacket back on and bundled herself up in a blanketed ball.

They drove along in comfortable silence with Clarke occasionally munching on chips or heating the water in her little bundle of blankets. The radio was on, but it was cutting out a lot because of the storm and because it wasn't very good in the first place, so they were left hearing mostly static. Clarke wanted to break through it and talk to Bellamy, wanted to make him laugh again, but she couldn't think of anything to say that wouldn't sound forced. Whenever she glanced over at him, he just looked lost in thought, like if she spoke, he might not hear her anyway. It was probably a weirdly intimate thing to ask him what was on his mind, and it probably wouldn't be a good idea considering they were only friends, but she wanted to know so she didn't really care.

"What are you thinking about?"

"We should have bought some fucking mitts," he answered immediately, so quickly that he nearly interrupted her. His voice was alert and mad and something about it made Clarke laugh.

"Here," she said, unbuckling her seat belt and scooting closer, careful not to disturb her cocoon. She wiggled her arm out from inside and reached for his right hand, taking it off the wheel.

At the contact, she sucked in a breath and he groaned. His hand was absolute ice in the heat of hers. She hurriedly pulled it into her blanket bundle with the rest of her.

"Jesus. Can you even feel your hands?"

"Barely," he said, letting her heat him back up with caresses.

There was nothing romantic between them, and it was very rare for them to touch like Clarke was touching him now - running her hands over his, all over his, under the pretense that she was trying to warm him up - but she couldn't help but bask in the sensation of his skin against hers. She knew there was no spark between them in Bellamy's mind - he was always telling her what a great friend she was, how he liked having her near him because it made him think of Octavia - so she never pursued anything, despite that she started feeling something for him shortly after she started University. That was two years ago.

Bellamy had moved from their hometown, Ark to TonDC mere months before Clarke's first year started, which was a pleasant coincidence to her even before she started liking him. They'd always been close friends, something Clarke attributed to the unhealthy amount of time she spent at his house growing up since his little sister, Octavia was one of her best friends. They were never personal with each other, though. Not until they were both in TonDC and the only people they knew were each other. She didn't want to think of it as a blessing, that things worked out the way they did, but it was hard not to. They both moved away for a reason, Clarke because TonDC University was where her mother went and so it held a special place in her heart, and Bellamy because ... well, she wasn't actually sure. She'd asked him about it before and he just shrugged the question off, saying he'd wanted a change, but he never gave a reason for TonDC specifically. Clarke was okay with not knowing, though. She was just glad he was close.

He lived about half an hour from her dorms in a secluded cabin in the woods. The first time she came over, the weekend after she started school, she was surprised to find that it wasn't nearly as creepy as she'd been imagining. It was actually really nice. Bellamy told her that it was newly built, and while it wasn't the biggest house she'd ever been in, it wasn't that small either. It didn't have a furnace (the heat came from a wood burning stove), but other than that, it was more or less a regular house. A regular house with a lot of polished wood features. She slept over almost every weekend, always claiming the bed because Bellamy refused to let her sleep on the couch. They got drunk a lot, too, which was probably the main reason they became so much closer than before. They never drank enough to suffer memory loss; just enough to open up and break down each other's walls.

And then on Sunday night, he'd drive her back to her dorms and the cycle would repeat. They didn't only see each other on weekends, though. All throughout the week, they spent time together after Clarke's classes were out and Bellamy's work was done. They didn't even do much, just walked around or went to a movie, sometimes they went grocery shopping together, but it was always fun. Bellamy was always fun.

Presently, when his hand was warm enough, she released it and made to reach for her other hand, but he was already grabbing a heat pack.

"It's okay," he said, a strange undertone in his voice, like he was uncomfortable. With his eyes on the road, he held up the heat pack for a moment to show her before cracking it and putting it between his left hand and the wheel. "I forgot we had these."

"Oh, right," said Clarke, sitting back in her spot and buckling up. "So did I."

She didn't.

The radio suddenly gave an awful squeal, and immediately, the both of them reached over to shut it off. Their hands touched and Clarke faltered, but Bellamy wasn't affected. He shut the radio off and sighed, cracking the fingers of his warm hand. With nothing else to do, Clarke looked out the window and noticed for the first time how bad the weather was. The snow looked much the same as it had earlier at the convenience store, but it was coming down faster, so much so that they could only see a few meters in front of them.

Clarke didn't say anything for a while, always reassuring herself that Bellamy had always been a good driver and he wouldn't do anything to kill them. If he was fine driving through it, she should let him be. But the longer they drove, the more it seemed they were heading right into the mounting blizzard, and she was starting to freak out.

"Bellamy, maybe we should pull over," she said nervously, looking over her shoulder and seeing headlights close behind them. "Do you have your tail lights on?"

"They're on," he assured her, looking in the rear view mirror. "It'll be fine. We've only got another hour to go."

But then the car behind them closed the distance and started to overtake them. Bellamy was going the speed limit, despite the weather, and it was blatantly clear that the person next to them was going much faster. Clarke was looking past Bellamy at the other car when Bellamy suddenly slammed on the breaks, thrusting her forward against the seat belt. Clarke gasped, clutching onto the door, and just after the car past them, another one whizzed past them going the opposite direction. Bellamy pulled over into a nearby approach, his truck coming to an rickety halt.

"Fucking idiot almost rammed us," he muttered, slamming his hand on the steering wheel. "What the fuck is he doing passing someone in this weather?"

"Oh, my God," Clarke breathed, clutching a hand to her pounding heart. Sighing, Bellamy looked over at her.

"Hey, it's okay," he said, reaching out and gently caressing the back of her head for a few short seconds. The feeling sent a ripple of pleasure through her, but she pushed it aside to focus on more pressing matters.

"Bellamy, really, let's just wait it out," she urged. "It'll probably get clearer if we give it a few hours."

He didn't look like he wanted to. "One more hour and we're there."

"Not if we die first," she said, raising her eyebrows at him when he looked over.

He folded, putting his truck into park.

"All right, fine. Just for a little while."

It was quiet again aside from the rumbling of the truck, which Bellamy left on because it was powering the space heater. His useless, unhelpful, piece of crap space heater.

"God, why didn't you get your heater fixed?" she nagged, reaching forward and messing around with the dials until Bellamy swatted her hand away.

"It's not gonna magically start working just because you're you," he muttered, clenching his hands a few times before blowing on them.

"Here," she said, handing him an unused heat pack.

He shook his head. "It's fine. They shouldn't be wasted."

"What do you mean 'wasted'?" she scoffed. "We got them for this exact reason."

"It might get colder, Clarke. We should save them."

"Oh, God," she grumbled, cracking the heat pack herself and then holding it out again. "Use it."

"Damn it, Clarke," he said, but he took it from her.

As Bellamy had predicted, it did get colder, but not because of the weather. After fifteen minutes or so, Clarke noticed their breath was starting to come out in little, misty puffs of air. She'd been joking earlier when she said it to Bellamy, but now it was actually honest to God that cold in the truck. She'd been wrapping herself tighter in the blankets, sticking her whole head inside, but she could only retain heat for so long. Risking a blast of chilly air, she reached out from her blankets into the backseat to turn the space heater up, but she noticed it was already at maximum.

"So not only is your truck bad at making heat," she started, fiddling with the space heater, "but so is the thing you bought to replace said shitty heater."

"Will you stop hitting it?" he said, exasperated, and then added, "I didn't buy it, I found it in the garage."

She was about to yell at him when she held her hand in front of the heater to warm up, but realized there was no heat coming from it anymore. Not even old people breath heat.

"This fucking thing isn't working at all now," she exclaimed, pulling her hand back into her blankets and vigorously rubbing it to get warm again.

Bellamy reached into the back seat and held his hand close to it, but he felt the same thing.

"Shit," he hissed, and retracted his arm, falling back against his seat. "What do we do?"

"The snow is only getting thicker," she said. "If we couldn't see the road before, it'll be worse now."

Bellamy scoffed. "So we either die trying to get to O's apartment or we freeze out here on the highway. That what you're saying?"

"We're not going to die, drama queen."

He exhaled, his head falling back against his seat.

"Okay, look," she said, pulling her phone from her purse. "I'll text Octavia and tell her to come get us."

"No, I don't want her driving in this," he said sharply.

"Oh, but it's okay if you do?" she asked. "With me in the vehicle, even."

Bellamy's eyes crinkled at the corners.

"That's not what I said. I'm not driving, am I? I'm sitting here in an approach freezing my ass off 'cause you got scared."

Clarke huffed. "Are you trying to blame me for the snow, Bellamy? 'Cause I'm not a fricken magician."

"If we would have just kept driving like I wanted to, we would have made it there by now."

They'd only been sitting in his idling truck for something like twenty minutes, so they definitely wouldn't have been at Octavia's already, but whatever made him happy....

"Fine, be my guest," she said, gesturing to the road. "Start driving, go ahead. But when we get in a head-on, don't pretend like I didn't warn you."

Bellamy didn't respond, only gave his head a small shake, like he couldn't believe what was happening. Neither could Clarke, for that matter. She couldn't imagine what compelled her to take the trip in Bellamy's truck instead of catching a bus. Except that was a lie. Spending time with him tended to trump all other things.

"So?" she said after a moment of him not doing anything. "Are you going?"

"No, I'm not going," he shot back.

She tried not to feel hurt at his tone.

"Then turn the truck off," she murmured. "You're wasting gas."

He did so right after she said it and fell back against his seat.

"I hope this clears up soon."

His voice was much softer.

Clarke nodded. "Yeah. Me, too."

* * *

But just their luck, it didn't. A full hour had passed since they stopped and Clarke was so cold that her teeth were clacking together. Her whole body shook and there were only four heat packs left, thanks to her. About ten minutes ago, Bellamy (who seemed to be handling the cold much better than she was) had scooted closer and maneuvered them so they were both wrapped up in all six of the blankets. She was enveloped by him, his hands rubbing over her back and upper arms to create friction. It was nice having him hold her like that (she could smell his cologne and his arms felt protective and she'd imagined what this would be like countless times in the past), but she couldn't stop thinking that he'd rather not touch her at all, and that kind of ruined the moment.

And then, for the thirtieth time, he asked her if she was okay.

"I-I'm fi-ine, I k-keep t-telli-ing you," she chattered, pressing closer into his chest.

He held her tighter.

"Yeah, you sound like it."

She didn't want to answer his snark because it was frustrating enough that she couldn't speak properly, and she didn't want to get into an argument with him when it was impossible to take her seriously at the moment. Because of that, she stayed quiet, only whimpering a few seconds later because her toes were about to fall off.

"All right, we gotta do something," said Bellamy, his voice determined.

He pulled back and before Clarke could say anything, he shucked his jacket and ripped his sweater off over his head.

"St-stop, B-Bell-Bellamy! Wh-what are y-you do-doing?" she demanded, trying to put his sweater back on to no avail. He was only wearing a thin, white shirt underneath, and she had the intense urge to pull him toward her and make sure he didn't get too cold.

The only logical explanation she could think of was that he was trying to stop prolonging their imminent deaths, but then again, that wasn't logical at all.

When he spoke, what he was proposing was even less reasonable.

"You need body heat, Clarke," he said, going for his shirt, but she grabbed his hands to stop him.

"I'm n-not d-doing tha-that," she said, her cheeks flaming

"I don't want to, either," he promised, an unexpected blow to her feelings, "but I'd prefer this to you freezing to death."

"It'll b-be t-too w-w-weird," she insisted, though that wasn't why she was so uncomfortable with the idea. Not even close.

"We're both cold, Clarke," he pressed. "I'm not gonna do anything to you."

"I di-didn't th-think y-you would."

He shrugged, giving his head a small shake.

"Then what's the problem?"

She couldn't tell him what the problem was, so she moved her hands, and he pulled his shirt off. It took all her effort not to stare.

"You gotta take yours off, too," he said, slightly breathless, but looking completely unaffected. "Come on, it's freezing."

Clarke dropped the blankets from her shoulders and used her frozen fingers to pry off the jacket.

She was in the middle of removing the first sweater when Bellamy spoke, his words fast.

"Do you want me to help you?"

"Oh, m-my G-God, no," she said, trying to hurry it up.

When she was just in her shirt, she glanced up at Bellamy to see him watching, gauging her reaction.

"It won't be weird, Clarke," he said, his face soft and impossible not to trust. "We won't make it weird."

It was all she needed to hear. She pulled the shirt over her head, leaving herself in only a bra and her jeans. As soon as she did, Bellamy lurched toward her, one of his arms coming around her and pulling her easily and swiftly into his heated chest. They both gasped quietly at the contact - Bellamy was incredibly warm, despite the conditions, and Clarke was like ice, her freezing hands tucked into his chest - but he regained his composure almost immediately, a small shiver rippling through him. With his free hand, he shoved everything off the seat except their blankets. Keeping Clarke tightly against him, her body still shivering, he grabbed a couple blankets and did his best to lay them down flat on the seat, warm side up, before lowering Clarke down and covering her with his body. His arm was trapped beneath her, so he used his other one to quickly grab the remaining blankets and fold them all around them.

When he was done, he brought his warm hand to Clarke's side and began running it up and down her frigid skin. It was heating her up, but she was shivering even more now just from the feel of him. She couldn't believe what his simple touches were doing to her.

"How ar-aren't y-you c-cold ri-right n-n-now?" she asked, trying to distract herself.

He gave a breathy laugh.

"I've been packing on weight for hibernation."

Clarke smiled, her teeth chattering. Bellamy _had_ put on weight in the last few months, but it was all muscle. Lean, hard, tan muscle that she got sneak peaks at whenever she was at his house and he had his shirt off. Now, she curled her fingers into her fists and pressed them to his his chest, feeling him the way she used to fantasize about. He exhaled sharply, though, and she quickly pulled her hands back.

"S-sorry," she said, holding her fists to her chest.

"It's okay," he said quickly, grabbing her hands and putting them back on his body.

"I m-made you c-cold," she objected, starting to move them back again, but Bellamy just pushed closer so that her hands were locked against him anyway.

"Then touch me where I'm warm," he said, his voice suddenly rough. His breath fanned across her cheek when he spoke and she bit the inside of her cheek, timidly moving her hands around his body to his back. She left a cold trail in their wake, but Bellamy didn't make a sound. He shivered again, though ... like he did when she first touched him. He pressed himself closer so that every inch of his bare torso was pressed to hers. His arm was still around her, holding her in place, and his other hand was running up and down her arm now instead of her side.

She could feel his body move with every breath in, her breasts being squished into his chest. She wondered if he could feel them and if he could, what did he think, because his face wasn't giving anything away. In fact, right then, his eyes were squeezed shut and his brow furrowed, like he was concentrating hard on something. She hoped it wasn't because he was disgusted being so close to her. He probably thought of her like a sister, so of course it would be gross and uncomfortable for him, but it didn't hurt any less to think it. She couldn't stop the burning in her eyes and the tear that slipped out before she could blink them away. Bellamy opened his eyes in time to notice.

"What's wrong?" he asked hurriedly, moving his hand to wipe the wetness from her face. His eyes suddenly widened and he lifted himself up. "Am I crushing you?"

"N-no. Just c-cold," she lied.

"Where?" he said at once, lowering himself again.

"Ev-v-v-"

"Everywhere?"

She nodded.

Bellamy sighed sharply, his voice frustrated when he spoke.

"We need something to make it warmer."

The only thought that swept through her mind was dirty and shameful and wrong, very likely grody to Bellamy, considering the circumstances they were in, but it was the only thing that occurred to her. If she were being completely honest, going through with it would be more to fulfill her own desires than to warm up, though that would be a pleasant side-effect if it actually worked. But it would cross so many boundaries because they were just friends, despite that Clarke so desperately wanted to be more.

However, not thinking of her feelings, she thought it might really be of help. And it would be much less awkward than just rubbing their bodies together or whatever else was in store for them if the heat continued dissipating.

She looked out the window to see it was still blizzarding, though it might have been clearing out a bit; she couldn't really tell. Tightening her arms around him, feeling suddenly possessive and worried that he might pull away after he heard what she said, she looked back to his dark eyes on her.

"There's only o-one thing I c-can th-think of."

"Yeah?" he said, urging her on.

She didn't want to say the words, so even though it was terribly awkward, she decided to demonstrate. She arched her back, grinding her hips into his, and even though he wasn't at all hard, she could still feel him.

"What?" he said sharply, immediately shoving his hand down between them and forcing her back down into the seat. "No, Clarke, God. That's not what I meant."

"Wouldn't it h-help?" she asked, sliding her hands off his skin and holding them against her.

He looked at her when she did it, but he glanced away just as quickly.

"It doesn't matter," he muttered, shaking his head. "We're not doing it."

"You were f-fine with c-cuddling."

"It's not cuddling," he said, grimacing. "It's preserving body heat."

"Exactly," she said.

It was almost embarrassing how much she was pushing it, so she was going to lay off when he said something completely wrong.

"I really just don't want to. I'll feel like I'm ... forcing you."

Clarke pulled her eyebrows together.

"I'm the o-one who s-suggested it, you're n-not forcing me."

"It's just uncomfortable, all right?" he insisted. His eyes were shut again, his eyebrows pulled tightly together, and then he buried his head above her shoulder. His voice muffled when he added, "Just give it a rest."

She was going to, she really was, because she didn't want to force _him,_ but there was just one thing she wanted to know first. He'd done that twice, closed his eyes so he wouldn't have to look at her, and the notion that it was because being with her would repulse him ... she'd rather know sooner than later.

"Would it be ... difficult? For y-you to ... you know?"

Bellamy groaned, lifting his head to look at her, almost sheepish.

"I don't have any problems getting it up, if that's what you're asking."

He dropped his head again, exhaling softly against her neck.

"I m-meant because of me," she said quietly, feeling like she might cry when he didn't say anything. He didn't even move. Well, there was her answer, then. "Okay. I just wanted to know."

Bellamy pulled back again, his eyes gentler.

"Clarke, no, that's not the problem," he said, and then clarified, "We're friends. You don't want to do this."

"So you'd do it if I w-anted to?" she asked, wondering if she'd understood correctly.

"Come on, drop it," he said, avoiding her gaze.

"If it helps to keep us warm, I want to do it," she said, ignoring him. Obviously, that wasn't the only reason, but she would never tell him that.

A slight frown fell over his face, colouring him with uncertainty.

"To keep us warm," he echoed.

"Yeah," she said, and then reminding him of his earlier words. "It'll only be weird if we make it weird."

He met her eyes for a moment before letting his gaze trail down her face to her mouth, and he clenched his jaw before snapping his eyes back to hers.

"You sure you're good with this?"

She nodded, and so did he, his breaths suddenly harsh against her skin.

"And it's not gonna be weird, right? Won't change anything?"

Clarke's heart constricted painfully.

"No," she said, swallowing. "It won't change anything."

"Good," he said, and then he leaned forward and pressed his soft, cold lips to hers.

Never in her life had she believed she'd be able to fulfill her desire to have Bellamy's mouth on her, but suddenly there he was, kissing her like he knew exactly how to do it, like he'd done it a thousand times before, and it sent a spark erupting through her nerves. Immediately, she kissed him back, finding rhythm against his expert mouth and trying to match his pace. Her hand was trembling when she brought it up to touch the side of his neck, feeling gratified when she felt that her pulse wasn't the only one that had picked up. 

"Your heart's racing," she whispered against his mouth.

Bellamy nodded, clutching her side with the hand that was still wound around her.

"I know."

His other hand came up to cradle her face, his thumb moving over her skin in a tender contrast to how hasty he was with kissing her. Slowly, he dragged his fingers down her neck, between her breasts, and then flattened his hand and slid it down the sensitive skin of her stomach to her jeans. Clarke could feel how wet she was already, could feel herself dripping, and knowing Bellamy was inches away from touching her had her rubbing her thighs together. Bellamy didn't seem to notice. He was still kissing her when he unbuttoned her jeans; urging her mouth open and snaking his tongue inside when he pulled down her zipper; his breaths harsh against her mouth when he slid his hand beneath the band of her panties, moving his fingers down further and further.

She was lightheaded when she finally felt him, his whole hand roughly cupping her center, and she couldn't hold back her quiet moan. She arched into his hand, her frozen toes curling in her boots. Bellamy eagerly pressed two fingers between her lips, drawing them through her slick warmth, but then he froze. She could barely hear the snow outside over his breathing and the blood rushing in her ears.

"You're already...." he muttered, tweaking his fingers against her and feeling again how incredibly hot and eager she was for him.

Clarke covered her face in shame, thinking things couldn't get any more mortifying, but Bellamy didn't seem to like it.

"Move your hands," he said hoarsely, and when she did, she got only a glimpse of the raw hunger lacing his features before he moved forward to kiss her again. This one felt different, less rushed, but so desperate and needy, like he wanted her as badly as she wanted him, like he was ready to tear the rest of her clothes off and get started on heating up the truck. But of course he did; he was a guy, and she was in love.

He was moving his fingers up and down through her wet flesh, grazing her clit with each stroke and growling when Clarke whimpered, heady want coursing through her. Then, without warning, he delved both fingers into her slit and curled them inside her.

Clarke's hands shot up to clutch his arms, a quiet, surprised sound tumbling from her into his mouth. It spurred him on and he pushed into harder, grinding his hand against her clit whenever it made contact.

"Oh, my God," Clarke breathed, sliding an arm around his shoulders to keep him where he was.

"Are you warming up?" he asked raggedly, but he was kissing her before she had a chance to answer.

Clarke shuddered, clenching around his fingers when he thrust them back in. He let out a strangled groan into her mouth and shifted, sinking down lower onto her so she could feel his desire for her, all for her, pressing needy against the inside of her thigh.

They were both ready enough, and Bellamy seemed to realize that, too. He pushed his fingers into her once more before pulling out and fumbling one-handed with his belt.

The action alone of Bellamy hurriedly trying to rid himself of his clothes just so he could feel Clarke's tight, warm walls around him had her losing her mind. She didn't know if he wanted it quite as badly as she did (he wasn't the one who thought about this a hundred times before), but it was obvious that he _did_ want it. At that moment, she didn't care why they were doing it or how different it might be for both of them since there were different feelings involved, she was just high off the feeling that Bellamy wanted  _her._ He was hard and ready and staring at her as he tried in vain to undo his belt, a dark, animalistic fire burning behind his eyes, like he couldn't wait to devour her. Clarke's mouth was dry and she wet her lips, just as eager and impatient as he was. She reached between them and helped him along, unbuckling his belt herself. She was clenching around nothing, so close to seeing him, so close to having him buried inside her, feeling him move inside her, and she didn't give a damn about being cold anymore. As soon as she unzipped his jeans, she shoved them down past his hips and Bellamy immediately kicked them off the rest of the way. She could see the entire outline of his length pressing tightly against his boxer briefs, and a shaky breath left her at the sight. She was aching at her core, her palms tingling, but her hands just wouldn't move forward and touch him. Bellamy didn't do anything, either, so she lifted her gaze to meet his and couldn't hold back a shudder. His eyes were heavily-lidded black pools focused right at her, a hungry look darkening his features and his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. And then she realized. He was waiting for her.

Swallowing hard, she looked back down and reached forward again. She curled her hands over his narrow hips first, feeling the hard ridges of his muscles that carved a V straight down beneath his boxers. The tips of her fingers were popping with electricity when she slipped them beneath the elastic and pulled his boxers down. His shaft sprang free and smacked against his abdomen. He was hard and long and perfectly thick, and Clarke could already feel him sliding into her. Without hesitation, she curled her fingers around him and gave a gentle tug. Bellamy pressed forward into her hand and kissed her again, a low, guttural noise sounding in the back of his throat when she ran her thumb over the head.

She really couldn't wait any longer. It didn't take long to rid herself of her pants and panties, but she was so impatient that she only pulled them off enough to free one leg, and then she kicked her shoes off before opening her legs to rest on either side of Bellamy.

He reached between them and grabbed the base of his hardness to press it between her folds. It slid easily, and both of them groaned, Clarke pressing her head back into the seat. A second later, she felt him at her entrance, slowly pushing into her deeper and deeper until his pelvis met hers, making sure she felt every last inch of him.

With a loud, high-pitched moan, Clarke moved her hands behind her to grasp at the door. She didn't care if it was painfully cold to the touch or that the whole point of being with Bellamy like this was to _prevent_ freezing, she just needed something to grab onto. She was already close, already so close to coming apart at just the feel of him fitting snugly inside her and pulling back and letting out those _sounds_ against her skin. God, she'd imagined this so many times. After they went to the movies, or he drove her back to her dorm from his house, or he just texted her to make sure she got home safe from somewhere, she'd locked herself in her bedroom and spent hours touching herself to the thought of him and his mouth and his hands and his-

She gasped when Bellamy pumped back into her at the same time as he grazed his teeth over her neck.

"Touch me," he said roughly, slowly pulling out of her.

A tremor coursed through her body and she did as he said, lifting her hands and drawing them along the hard planes of his chest, rewarded by the hitch in his breath. He bent his head and nudged hers to the side, kissing her neck at the same moment he slammed back into her.

Clarke let out a sharp moan, the sound short and strained, and Bellamy picked up the pace, thrusting into her harder, his breath heavy against her throat where he was latching onto her skin, sucking her into his mouth. She wrapped her arms tightly around his shoulders, one hand pressed to the skin of his back while the other one was clutched against his head, his soft hair sliding between her fingers. He let out a soft moan and tried to pull her closer even though they were flush, skin to skin. 

With the way he was touching her, she could easily let herself believe that this was real. His arm was possessive around her, tight and unmoving and forcing her as close to him as possible without the slightest bit of space to move around. His torso ground against hers every time he slid into her and it was sending rippling jolts of hot, powerful need between her legs, right where he was alleviating the pressure time after time with each long stroke. And it was like he couldn't stop touching her, squeezing her, kneading her skin. It was impossible to remember they were 'just friends' when he was sliding his hand down the side of her body, sneaking it between their hips to circle his fingers over her sensitive nub, encouraging her to fall apart as he moved inside her.

And she did. The first time was shortly after they'd started. Bellamy was touching her, using her wetness to rub her clit. She arched into him, sounds like sobs forcing their way out of her, and she could tell Bellamy loved every one of them. He loved them, thrusting faster, his breathing uneven, his fingers frantic where they touched her. She felt the build up for a long few seconds, and only had to plead with him once, beg him to push harder, and he immediately obliged until she felt it all break over her. She cried out and squeezed her thighs against him, her arms tight around his shoulders and her fingers digging into his warm skin as she pressed her face into his neck. He groaned, undoubtedly at the feeling of her tightening around him in surges, of her writhing beneath him and trying to draw him deeper inside with every upward roll of her hips, of her sobbing his name as he pumped fast and hard through her comedown. He never stopped moving, never stopped touching her, wouldn't stop kissing her until she lost her energy and slumped back against the seat with thick, heavy breaths, and still, not even then.

It happened to her again, and again, and then again, and she wasn't sure if it was because Bellamy was so good at sex, or if it was simply because it was a rush knowing exactly who it was plunging into her, knowing the person she'd wanted for years was finally, finally giving her the part of him she'd been craving since a month into University. Either way, she made sure that he knew how much she loved what he was doing. Whenever he hit a certain spot inside her, she crooned his name and reveled in his answering husky groans. Since he told her to touch him, she hadn't stopped and it was obvious that it was doing things to him, especially when she slipped her hands up to curl in his hair. Once, right after she'd done it at the same time she whispered his name, she felt him throb inside her. He swore - a harsh, gruff sound - before stilling himself. He didn't move again, only closed his eyes and furrowed his brow with a deep look of concentration. He kept doing that, stopping himself from coming apart like she had. She felt him come close more times than she even did, but he would always still himself and wait a while before moving again. At first she thought it was because he wasn't wearing a condom, so she told him it was okay, that she'd been on birth control for a while, but he only told her it wasn't that. So she didn't know why, but she didn't much care. She was blissed out and in Heaven and with every gentle sound he made, with every kiss he gave her, with every tender look she saw when their eyes locked, she didn't want it to stop.

Eventually, though, it had to happen.

Clarke was in the middle of dragging her fingers through his hair when Bellamy pulsed inside her again and stilled, letting out a frustrated moan. He glanced up at the windows and a look of utter relief fell over his face.

"It's clearer out," he whispered, and immediately, he was moving again, thrusting faster and harder than he had since they started.

Clarke swore and squeezed her eyes shut, her mouth open in a wide-O. Bellamy pulled one of her hands from his hair so he could link their fingers together, pressing her hand into the seat beside her head.

Her heart leapt at the sweetness of the gesture, and when Bellamy leaned forward to kiss her deeply, she raked her other hand through his curls again. Bellamy's answering moan was husky.

"Don't stop doing that," he breathed, and she was seriously close to falling apart again.

His frenzied, eager pace had her throwing her head back and moaning his name, begging him to touch her, to help her dissolve into pleasure the way he'd already done numerous times.

He released her hand, allowing her to bring it back up against the nape of his neck, and shoved his hand between them to vigorously rub at her clit. He pressed quick, wet kisses from her jaw to her cheek to her mouth, and he stayed there for a moment, kissing her ardently, and then every one of her taut nerves snapped and her back arched, a shrill sound tearing from her throat as pleasure erupted through her. Bellamy swore shakily and broke the kiss, his lips still touching hers when he loudly and hoarsely moaned her name, slamming into her one last time before his hips stilled. He kissed her again, sloppily and roughly now as he spilled inside her. Clarke could hardly breathe, clutching him tightly to her while they rode it out together. With every passing second that the intensity died down, Clarke's whole body was drooping into exhaustion. Bellamy was still kissing her, still gently moving inside her, but she didn't even have the energy to do more than kiss him back, and even that was almost too hard.

But he pulled back after a moment to see her. His pupils were still wide, drowning out the brown of his irises, and he swallowed at whatever he saw on her face.

"We should get going," he said, his voice quiet and drained, just like Clarke was.

She hummed in agreement and Bellamy raised himself, finally pulling his arm out from underneath her. He reached behind him to the glove box and clicked it open to pull out a bundle of napkins, quickly pulling his arm back in with a shudder.

"It's still cold," he told her, and she nodded as he moved down her body and gently held her legs apart. He cleaned her up with the napkins, glancing up at her only once, and then he balled them up in another napkin and threw them into the garbage can underneath the seat. She expected them to both start dressing, but when she reached for her shirt, he reached for her panties hanging from her thigh and pulled them back on, lifting her hips for her. He put her jeans on, too, as she pulled on her shirt and sweaters. When she tried to help him, though, he wouldn't let her.

"It's okay," he said quietly, already dressed in his boxers and pants, and reached out to grab his shirt from her. "Thanks, though."

Feeling somehow slighted, Clarke stuck her feet back in her boots before bundling herself back up in her jacket and blankets. She scooted down the seat to the passenger side, picking up all the waters and the heat packs and snacks on the way. Having put on the rest of his clothes, Bellamy moved into the driver seat, glancing at Clarke and then clearing his throat, starting the truck with a little difficulty thanks to how cold it had gotten. Before he started driving, he reached forward and wiped away the newly created condensation on his windows and Clarke did the same.

Neither of them said a word as Bellamy pulled back onto the highway, but it wasn't a comfortable silence like before. It was obvious he wasn't distracted by some other thought this time, so both of them were stuck together in the moment and neither of them wanting to speak made for the worst atmosphere. Swallowing, Clarke turned the radio back on and was greeted by static again, but she paused for a moment because when her eyes locked on the time, she realized an hour and a half had passed since she propositioned him. They'd been together for an hour and a half and she had no idea. It made sense, though, considering he brought her over the edge five times. Clarke looked over to his blank expression, his eyes on the road, and she sighed, turning the dial. Anything would work at this point, any background noise at all, so when she landed on an oldies station that she normally hated, she pulled back gratefully and tucked herself in, staring out the side window and refusing to look over at him again.

Her body and mind were still worn out, but instead of feeling dazedly euphoric like she had minutes ago, she was just sad and strangely lonely. Mostly just sad.

It was frustrating, how it was something she'd been wanting for so long, craving for so long, but now that it happened, she couldn't help but wish it hadn't. It also wasn't at all how she imagined, which wasn't to say that it wasn't good - she couldn't find the words to express how absolutely wonderful Bellamy had made her feel. It was just that in all her fantasies, he was crazy about her; he wanted her, and not because she was pretty or because they had to have sex for survival or whatever the Hell that was, but just because it made sense. Bellamy and Clarke as an 'us' was the most sensible thing to her, and she wanted him to know that, too. But it wasn't like that. He  _didn't_ want it like she did, given how much he refused at the start, and the knowledge of that threatened to rip her to shreds.

And now, to make matters worse, it was terribly awkward and they had an hour-long drive ahead of them. It was so tense in the truck that Clarke didn't even tell him when Octavia texted and asked where they were and if they were okay. She explained to her what happened - leaving out the last ninety minutes, obviously - and promised to be there within the hour.

When they did arrive at Octavia's apartment, parking on the other side of the road, Clarke hurriedly made to get out, but Bellamy stopped her with a hand on her sleeve. She looked over her shoulder at him with parted lips, leaving her hands closed around the door handle, and he pulled his arm back.

"It's just, uh-" he said, pausing for a second. His eyes flitted between hers and the snowy weather, going back and forth when he continued. "You said you were on birth control?"

She could _feel_ her stomach actually drop down into the pits of Hell. What did he think, she was trying to trap him into having a baby with her?

"If it makes you feel better, I can get plan B in the morning," she muttered, opening the door, but Bellamy stopped her again.

"I didn't mean-" he said, cutting himself off again before clenching his jaw and sighing through his nose. "I just wanted to know if you had a boyfriend."

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. This Bellamy, this skittish, nervous version was really good at rubbing her the wrong way.

"No one's going to kick your ass when we get back to TonDC," she said, opening the door and hopping out. "Don't worry."

She closed the door, hearing Bellamy's open and close a moment later. Just after she pulled on the door to the backseat, he came around the truck and slammed it shut.

It was obvious he didn't mean to slam it, but she was hurt by whatever he was trying to accuse her of, and she was hurt that he wasn't talking to her anymore except _to_ accuse her, so he was prodding at her anger and she thought she might as well let it out.

"What the Hell is your problem?" she snapped, reaching for the door handle again, but he held his hand over it to block it. Clarke just narrowly missed grazing his skin. "Bellamy-"

"Do you?" he asked again, his voice more alert than when he was in the truck.

She exhaled sharply and rolled her eyes. "No. I don't."

He was quiet for a moment and then nodded once, yanking open the creaking door.

"All right, then."

He reached in to pull out both bags and didn't relinquish hers when she asked for it. He just walked to the building, leaving her to close the door and follow after him.

Not that she was expecting anything different, but he didn't say anything more. Not when Clarke had to get Octavia to buzz them up, not walking up the three flights of stairs (Bellamy took the lead), not in the apartment when he set their bags down side by side next to the door, not ever, not at all. He wasn't saying anything to her, and none of their friends seemed to notice something was amiss.

She remembered him saying it.  _It's not gonna be weird, right? Won't change anything?_

It was painful to hear it at the time, but now as she watched him hugging Octavia and laughing with Miller, she realized how stupid she'd been. She took their friendship for granted for her own selfishness, and now all she wanted was that simple camaraderie back. She wanted to go back to the start of the trip, to the convenience store, to bickering with Bellamy, she wanted to go back.

 _No,_ she'd said.  _It won't change anything._

She couldn't have been more wrong.


	2. 보고십어 (I Miss You)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Chapter posted November 18, 2016*
> 
> Title from song I Miss You - Hyorin.
> 
> Sorry about this being a few months (haha) late, but I'm on it now. 2016 was weird.
> 
> TW: misunderstanding actions as rape.

_\- I want you like a dream. I hated how love was never enough. I wandered around, looking for you, but now you're next to me. -_

* * *

Clarke was, for lack of better word, pissed the fuck off. Not only was Bellamy blatantly -  _blatantly -_ ignoring her entire existence, he also appeared to be having a grande old time doing so. She wasn't trying to obsess over it and overthink the situation and regret, and regret, and regret, but ... he was laughing with Murphy and Miller while she sat alone in the corner of the room being a grump, and it was all his fault.

So what if they had sex? So. What? Was the world suddenly ending because of it? Were there volcanic eruptions happening all over the globe? Was a tsunami crashing into the side of the apartment building, condemning them all to a miserable Halloween and an even worse death?

No.

The world was still turning, the day was calm, there were birds outside the window, and Bellamy was avoiding her. All because they had  ~~a pretty great time~~ sex.

Now, Clarke normally wasn't one to make assumptions, but in her opinion, this situation was a little bit severe and she thought an assumption was called for: if she didn't sort this out with Bellamy as soon as possible, they could quite possibly have a falling out, and she was  _not_ about to lose one of her closest friends over something so inconsequential. Normal people would become friends with benefits after what they did, but not Bellamy and her. No, they had to get all awkward, even after specifically asserting that awkwardness would definitely not ensue. And because Bellamy was being so lovely as to pretend he had no idea she was in the same room, the burden of the task at hand was left on her shoulders.

At this point, she didn't even care that she had feelings for him. She would give up on her fantasy of one day being his girlfriend if he would just talk to her again. Making that happen, though, was a bit ... well. A bit difficult, to say the least. She didn't have much experience when it came to dealing with the negative repercussions of having sex with her best friend. But because the Universe wasn't on her side, the exact moment she found her chance ( _Bellamy's heading to the kitchen alone? Well, don't mind if I do_ ), Octavia grabbed her arm and cheerily pulled her off toward her bedroom while Clarke stared at Bellamy's back disappearing from view.

"What are you doing, Octavia?" she asked, very nearly shrieking in exasperation (she  _had_ been waiting a good few hours for him to stop surrounding himself with others so she could corner him alone. But ... maybe he got Octavia to do this. Was that his plan? Make it so it was impossible for the both of them to have a talk, just because it would be awkward and a little uncomfortable?  _That rat bastard_ _!_ ).

Octavia rolled her eyes. "Dragging you into my room. What does it look like?"

Clarke tugged her arm away and moved out from under her grasp.

"I just need to go to the kitchen for one quick second."

Octavia wasn't having it, though.

"Relax," she said, grabbing Clarke again and pulling her along. "The snacks aren't going anywhere. But the gang is. And you're not ready."

"What? What are you talking about?"

"Well, while you've been sulking in the corner eating chips and staring at my brother, the rest of us with lives have made some plans. And you're a part of them, like it or not."

"First of all, I wasn't sulking," she said, even though that word had been invented specifically for the stance she'd taken all night.

"Of course not," Octavia said, pulling her into her bedroom and shutting the door behind them.

"And what plans?" Clarke asked (blatantly ignoring the Bellamy part) as Octavia skipped forward to her closet. "I thought we had plans already."

"Like I said, if you weren't being such a bummer all night," said Octavia, flipping her head over her shoulder to stare pointedly, "then you'd know pumpkin carving is happening tomorrow morning. Why? I'm glad you asked. Because tonight, anyone who's not a loser is going to be at Undergrounders."

"No," Clarke groaned, her whole body slumping. "Octavia, I don't want to go clubbing tonight."

"Yeah, apparently you want to eat and be mad at Bellamy," she agreed with a little snort, rifling through the outfits in her closet. "What did he do anyway? I tried to ask him about it, but he just froze with this really dumb look on his face like this," she paused to demonstrate, "and then walked off without saying anything."

Clarke's chest squeezed. "He didn't do anything."

Octavia gasped, twirling around with a skimpy black dress.

"So it was you who did something! That's a first. You want to wear this?"

Clarke looked down at the dress, and then up at Octavia's beaming face, and then back down to the dress, and then she closed her eyes, tilted her head back, and groaned obnoxiously toward the ceiling.

"All right, all right," said Octavia, and when Clarke stopped whining and opened her eyes again, she was greeted with Octavia's back. "No need to be so dramatic."

"I'm really not in the mood to go out," Clarke muttered, walking further into the room so she could collapse onto Octavia's bed.

"Well ... I mean ... you could stay here alone if you wanted, but-" she broke off, glancing again at Clarke before shaking her head as she turned back to her closet. "Nevermind. You look like you're going to jump from my balcony."

Clarke snorted and fell backward, bouncing slightly on the mattress.

"What happened between you guys?" she asked again, halting her search through her closet for a moment to come and join Clarke on the bed. "Are you fighting?"

Clarke sighed. "Not ... exactly."

"'Not exactly'," Octavia imitated using a voice that was far too deep to be Clarke's. "I'm not the only one who's noticed you haven't said a word to him the entire night. Raven's ready to start an intervention and lock you two in the bathroom together."

"Well, Octavia," Clarke started, snapping her accusing gaze at her, "if you hadn't dragged me in here, I might have actually been able to say something to him."

Octavia scoffed. "Yeah, okay, Clarke."

She stood from the bed again and went back to clothes-searching, leaving Clarke to throw a tantrum on the bed. Normally, she wasn't averse to going out for some drinks and dancing, but her having had sex with her best friend a few hours before - and the subsequent tension - was a little more pressing.

"If you're going to make me go out, why can't I just go out in this?" she asked, picking at her outfit.

It wasn't like people never went out in casual clothes.

But Octavia just looked at her like she was stupid.

"I'm not even going to dignify that with a response."

"What about Raven?" Clarke challenged, knowing for sure that Raven would not be caught dead in a dress.

"Raven scares me sometimes, so Raven can wear what she wants," Octavia said, grabbing a tight, pretty, purple dress and tossing it onto the bed next to Clarke. "And, I think I found your dress."

Clarke touched the soft material, envisioning it hugging her body. Then out of nowhere, an image slammed into her mind of the dress hiked up around her waist while Bellamy pressed her tightly into the wall of the nightclub bathroom, her legs around his waist, his ass bare and taut as he thrust into her. She could even hear their combined moans, and the way his breath would sound loud and raspy right next to her ear, the feel of his strong body holding her up and her legs locked tightly around him. She normally wouldn't even want to have dingy bathroom sex, but suddenly, it was a little more appealing.

She resisted the urge to thrash around on the bed and throw a tantrum like a five year old.

"I really wish we were just pumpkin carving," she said, dejected.

"Tomorrow, you wet towel," Octavia promised, rolling her eyes and going back to the closet to pick an outfit for herself.

* * *

When Clarke drank, she wasn't the type to admit that she was drunk, but she was so, so drunk. She'd mostly had hard liquor all night because when guy after guy offered to buy her a drink (thank you Octavia's two-sizes-too-small dress), she wasn't about to pass up the opportunity to get completely wasted and wallow. So, when some well-meaning guy would ask her drink, she'd say gin and tonic, or rum and coke, or whiskey sour, because honestly, why not? What was so good about being sober when your life felt like it was falling apart? Bellamy was talking to every girl who approached him and flirted with him and touched him, and Clarke was, not for the first time, painfully aware that she wasn't the only one who knew he was attractive.

She was sitting on a high stool at the bar and trying to act like she wasn't obsessively watching other girls laughing at what he was saying, holding onto his arms and leaning into him. He didn't look nearly as into as they did. He wasn't touching them back, anyway. Maybe that counted for something. Maybe she just wanted to believe he didn't like it.

"I should have just stayed home," she murmured, dropping her head into her hand.

"What's that, love?" the bartender asked, arms crossed and resting on the bar.

"What?" she said, peeling her eyes away from Bellamy.

He smiled. "You fancy another drink?"

"Um," she said, checking her wallet to see how much tipping cash she had on her. She didn't really need to drink anymore, but.... "Give me a shot of your most alcoholic alcohol please."

The bartender gave her a cheeky grin.

"Coming right up."

Automatically (because at this point, it was pretty much a reflex) Clarke turned her head to watch Bellamy again, only to find him standing right next to her drumming his fingers on the bar. She tilted her head back to see his face, but he wasn't looking at her. Did he not know she was there? He was standing right next to her and didn't even notice her? She looked so hot in a tight little dress, and he didn't even care?

"Here you go," the bartender said, handing her the shot.

She forced a smile and mouthed 'thank you' and reached for it, but Bellamy grabbed it and downed it before she could.

After setting down the shot glass, he pulled out his wallet and paid for the drink - plus tip - before turning to Clarke, leaning close so she could hear him.

"You ready to head out?" he asked. "I'm done for the night."

Her stupid, stupid heart immediately fluttered at his proximity and his voice and the fact that he was directing the sounds from his mouth toward her for the first time in hours.

She opened her mouth to answer him, but the sudden feeling of shyness stunted her words, so she just nodded. When she slid off her seat and her feet touched the floor, Bellamy guided her along for a moment with his hand on her back toward where Raven and Wick were talking in a small booth on the other side of the room.

"Clarke's had a little too much to drink," he said once they were close enough, "so we're going to head back to O's."

"Oh, okay," Raven said, glancing at Clarke to see her condition before looking back to Bellamy. "You want to round everyone up?"

"No, that's fine. You guys enjoy yourselves."

"All right, sure," said Raven, nodding, and lifted her purse onto the table. "Here, let me give you the keys."

Bellamy looked confused. "Why do you have her keys?"

"Because Octavia," she started, pulling it out and slapping it into Bellamy's palm with a grin, "figured I'd be the first one to leave. For once, I'm not."

Clarke started giggling at that, a small one at first that quickly morphed into a fit of laughter. Raven laughed and rubbed Clarke's arm.

"Give her an orange when you get home. They sober her up for some reason."

Bellamy smirked, touching Clarke's back again to lead her to the door.

"Yeah, I know," he said. "See you guys tomorrow."

Despite the fact that she had to be supported by Bellamy on the way out of the club (and have a group of girls stop them from leaving to ask Clarke if she knew the guy who was taking her, only letting the pair of them leave when Clarke assured them - after Bellamy's unsuccessful attempt - that he was her best friend), Clarke was, for one reason or another, more than a little adamant about not being drunk. She was only stumbling because of the heels and because she was tired; she wasn't leaning on Bellamy, he was the one holding her; she only had a few drinks. None of it was working on him, but she was still insistent on trying. Especially because he was kind of talking to her now and she wanted to say whatever useless thing she could to keep it that way.

"I didn't even drink that much," she objected for the tenth time as Bellamy helped her into the cab.

He closed the door and walked around the back to the other side. When he was in, he buckled her up before telling the cab driver Octavia's address.

"Then why are you so drunk?" he asked, putting on his own seat belt.

She shook her head, very drunkenly. "I'm not."

"Right," he said, smirking and shaking his head.

He looked away to stare out the window, and a small surge of panic latched onto her heart.

"Stop ignoring me," she blurted. She may have been drunk, but the embarrassment of bringing it up was still a pressing weight on her chest.

He looked at her again, quickly glancing down the length of her face before up to her eyes.

"I'm not ignoring you," he said.

It was almost impressive how normal he was being, how he was so easily acting like nothing was going on with them, like he hadn't been avoiding her because of it.

"I don't mean right now," she slurred, weakly swinging her arm around to slap him. "I mean stop ignoring me because of what happened. It's annoying."

When he didn't answer, Clarke peeked at him from the corner of her eye and saw him staring down at the back of the driver's seat. He took a deep breath and sighed it out, nodding before answering.

"Okay. Sorry."

"I don't care if you're sorry," she muttered, crossing her arms and looking out her window. "Just quit it."

He chuckled. "Okay."

They were quiet again for a short while, but if Bellamy thought that was the end of the conversation, he had another thing coming.

"Why was it so weird for you?" she asked, looking at him again.

Bellamy glanced up into the rear view mirror at the driver - who seemed completely absorbed in his driving - and then at Clarke. Sure, maybe it was not the best idea to bring it up in front of someone else, but what did it matter? The driver didn't know them. Plus, he'd probably heard way worse conversations in his career than what they were about to talk about. He'd probably heard worse conversations that night. But, to Clarke's surprise, Bellamy didn't seem to mind it that much, either.

"Wasn't it weird for you?" he asked.

She felt like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. She could have laughed. Finally, they were going to talk about it instead of being awkward and avoiding each other. And it was the perfect opportunity, too, because she was drunk and she wasn't about to hold anything back in that state.

She shook her head and uncrossed her arms. "Not really."

"Not really?" he echoed.

She nodded. "Yeah. You thought I felt weird about it?"

"I just ..." he started, pausing as he shrugged a shoulder. "I don't know."

"What, thought you were taking advantage of me?" she asked, only half kidding. He'd said something similar in the truck, so it wasn't like she was going off of nothing.

He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes.

"Yeah. Sure."

Clarke's snort segued into laughter. "I was the one who suggested it in the first place. If anyone could be considered taking advantage, it would be me."

"So you admit it then?" he teased, his mouth turned up in a crooked smile.

She rolled her eyes, pretending like his statement held no weight, but really ... she was kind of a shitty friend for suggesting something like that in the first place. And hiding behind the idea that it was 'for warmth' was an even slimier thing to do. What if Bellamy had done that to her? She would have been livid with him. Well, she would have been if she wasn't in love with him. Like he wasn't in love with her.

"I mean, you know," she started, trying to hide the fact that she had been silent for too long. "Two hot people alone in the middle of a storm ... what else is there to do?"

He was silent for a long moment, but it wasn't a normal silent. It was a weird, energetically charged silence, and when she turned to him and saw the look on his face, she realized why.

"You think I'm hot?"

Her face flushed with red hot embarrassment, and she could not believe that she slipped up so hugely. It wouldn't have been a bad thing to say to him if it was just, 'yeah, objectively, you're a good looking guy'. But it wasn't that. It wasn't that at all. It was 'I'm in love with you and everything you do turns me on, and you're about a hundred times sexier to me now than you were before I was in love with you, because now I'm in love with you. Did I mention I'm in love with you?'

"Holy shit," he said, seeing the brightness in her face. "You  _do_ think I'm hot."

"Oh, my God - shut up, shut up," she said, looking out the window and almost shouting out in relief at the sight of Octavia's building a few blocks away. Being in such a confined space with him right then was a horrible idea. She needed a cold shower.

"I'm glad you think I'm hot," he said, pulling out his wallet as they came to a stop. There was that tell-tale voice, that stupid  _tone_ he used whenever he was making jokes at her expense.

Clarke groaned. "It was just ... I didn't mean it how you think I mean it, obviously."

"Oh, yeah, obviously," he said, laughing. "So just to clarify, you don't think I'm hot?" 

"No," she said as she got out of the car, leaving him in there to pay.

She heard him laugh before she closed the door and hurried down the sidewalk to the front door of the building. The cool, crisp air was a welcome feeling on her too hot skin, and the contrast of it sent a shiver through her body, erupting goosebumps all over her arms. She was in the middle of contemplating whether or not to reach down and grab snow to rub all over her before Bellamy jogged up, a pleased look on his face.

"You're even redder in the light," he said, looking like he was trying to suppress a smile as he dug through his pocket for the key.

"Will you stop?" she said, intently focusing on the key sliding into the lock.

She couldn't see him smile, but she knew he was.

Clarke went in first, heading to the elevator. The air outside had sobered her up just enough to walk by herself, but not enough to stop herself from saying what she was most curious about. She waited to say it, though, until they were at Octavia's door and Bellamy pressed in the pin on the number pad.

"Was it bad for you?" she asked, her voice unintentionally meek as she pushed open the door and walked inside ahead of him.

He was quiet while he closed the door, both of them taking off their shoes.

After a moment, he shook his head. "No, it ... wasn't bad."

She snorted. "Oh, it was not bad?" she said, dropping her heels onto the floor and leaning against the wall, giving him a playful look. "That's what it was? All right? Sort of okay? Could have lived without it?"

He was laughing before she finished talking.

"That's not what I meant."

"Was it good or not?" she pressed, a small smile on her face. "Just say it."

Her body was alive with nervous excitement, so eager to hear what she wanted him to say, that it was as good for him as it was for her.

Bellamy paused in front of her, gently moving his shoes to the side of the wall with his feet. He didn't look like he was joking around, and he wasn't even close to as playful as she was. She was suddenly feeling an invisible charge between them that she really hoped she wasn't imagining.

He swallowed, still not meeting her eyes, and turned to head into the kitchen.

"Yeah," he said, nodding once. "It was good."

She was heady. Her breaths weren't coming in how she intended and she was light-headed. She was drunk enough that if she wanted to, she could just imagine that day in the truck and see it in front of her so clearly, and so vividly, and so intimately, and-

"Why don't we just do this, then?" she breathed, her heart pounding an unsteady rhythm in her chest.

He'd been peeling an orange at the counter, but at that, he looked up. His eyes locked on hers, and a tremor coursed through her body.

"What?" he asked.

He was either confused or angry; she couldn't tell which one.

"You don't want to?" she asked, suddenly feeling very insecure in her makeup, her done up hair, the tight dress ... why had she brought it up?

Bellamy slowly shook his head, though not in answer. He left the half peeled orange on the counter and turned toward her. He was mad. Definitely mad.

"You can't keep doing this," he said, his voice too low, and he left the kitchen and went toward the living room. After a short second of stunned stillness on Clarke's part, she followed. "If you need a fuck buddy, look somewhere else. I'm not that guy. I can't believe you'd use me like that, either."

She was trying to focus on everything he was saying, but her thoughts were running together. Fuck buddy, not the guy,  _can't believe you'd use me_ ... how could he think that? After all the time she'd spent with him, after all the things they'd done together, he chalked it up to just that? To 'fuck buddy'?

"Bellamy, that's not what this is," she said, still coming toward him.

He didn't move away, but he straightened himself and leaned back, turning his head slightly to the side. He was refusing to look at her, so she stopped, not coming any further. The space between them felt far too big.

"It's not like that," she tried again. "When we were in your truck, I didn't even bring up sex because I was cold. I just wanted-"

"I know that!" he said, looking at her again, accusation marring his face. "I knew that the whole time."

Clarke stood frozen, her lips parted and her breaths, suddenly thick, coming harshly against the constraints of the dress. How could he know? How could he possibly have known? That afternoon came rushing back, forcing her through a painful embarrassment with the realization that the whole time, right at the start of it, right in the middle of it, he knew what it really was, and she knew what it really was, and they were both pretending they didn't.

"If you knew, then why did you do it?" she asked, swallowing back the dryness in her throat. "If you knew what I was doing, then why would you go along with it if you didn't want to?"

Unless he did want to. She wouldn't say it out loud. Not unless he did first.

But when he spoke, instead of lifting her spirits, his words crushed her.

"You were so cold, Clarke," he said, taking a step back to sit on the arm of the couch. "I thought it might actually help."

He looked defeated.

She didn't know what to say. Her intentions had been so wrong. Her stomach tightened so hard she thought she might puke. He was saying that she pressured him. In that moment, it all made sense. His ignoring her, his coldness, his pushing her away ... he was doing it because she forced him to- oh, God, she forced him to! She was so selfish! And he was right; she used him. She didn't even think about how it would affect him, about how she could be taking something from him he didn't want to give her. 

"Bellamy, I'm so sorry," she said, her voice shaking. Her eyes burned. "I didn't know ... I didn't think I was doing that to you. I just thought ... why didn't you say so?"

He sighed. "Clarke, I did."

"You made it sound like you didn't want to because you'd be forcing  _me_ ," she said, nearly hysterical. "Not that I'd be forcing  _you_."

He screwed up his face, the tired look he had leaving him all at once.

"Wait, what?" he said, confused. "What are you talking about?"

"What?" she said, refusing to answer his question because if his expression was anything to go by, she was way off base. "What do you mean? I don't understand."

" _I_ don't understand," he said, standing up and closing the distance. "Are you ... you think I'm mad because you forced me?"

Was that not it?

He huffed out a breath, disbelief apparent in his features.

"No offense, but you couldn't force me into that."

Those words were such a comfort, she could have cried.

"So I didn't ... I didn't rape-"

"God, Clarke," he said, moving away again. "No. Of course not."

Her shoulders slumped, and she huffed out a breath, anger taking over.

"What the Hell, Bellamy? I felt like such an asshole!"

"How is that my fault?"

"Because you didn't correct me!" she snapped.

"I didn't know you were thinking  _that_."

Well ... that was fair. She was a little drunk. Her misunderstandings were probably a little bit more off than usual. That was fine. At least she didn't rape him.

"If it's not that, then what are you so mad about?" she asked. She felt like she'd been asking this question for the entire conversation, but still, he wasn't giving her a proper answer.

"I'm mad because I thought I could handle it," he said, shrinking at the admission. "But I can't."

"You can't handle what?" she asked. They were going in circles. "What are you talking about?"

"This!" he said, gesturing toward her. "You, being so relaxed and like nothing's different."

Her jaw dropped.

"You were the one who said we shouldn't let it change anything!"

"Well, I didn't mean it!"

"Well, don't say it if you don't mean it!"

But then ... what? That didn't make any sense.

"What? You didn't mean-"

"I'm in love with you!"

Her heart stopped. Or it started beating faster. It felt like both at the same time. He was looking at her, and she could see the sincerity in his face, could almost feel it radiating off his body, but she was somehow sure she heard wrong. She was the one supposed to be confessing to him. She was the one who loved _him_. That couldn't have been what he said, could it?

"What did you say?" she asked, her voice small.

Was it was just wishful thinking? What if her drunken brain zapped her into an alternate reality for just a moment where miracles happened and best friends could actually fall into mutual love? What if she was getting her hopes up? What if she let herself succumb to the delirious happiness threatening to take over, what if she let this be everything she wanted it to be, always imagined it being, only to have him say she heard wrong? What if he somehow meant something else?

"After what happened, I can't pretend to be your friend anymore," he said, all the fight having left his body. "That's not what this is for me. I'm sorry."

He was watching her, shoulders lifting visibly with every breath. waiting for her to say something. She opened her mouth to reassure him. She loved him, she would always love him. He didn't have anything to be worried about. But her brain was working so fast that she couldn't figure out where to start. What was the order of the thoughts in her head? She took a step forward, trying to force out anything, when her senses were overcome by the sounds of their friends' voices in the hallway, growing louder and louder as they neared Octavia's apartment.

Bellamy looked past her at the door. Clarke couldn't take her eyes off him. He sighed before grabbing his sweater from where it had been sitting on the couch and pulled it on over his head on his way to the door.

"Bellamy," Clarke called, spinning as he walked past her. She took a step forward, wanting to stop him, but he opened the door, pulling Octavia inside with the handle, which she was grasping onto. Raven and Lincoln were behind her, their eyes locking onto Bellamy as soon as they saw him.

Octavia looked up at him, staring for a second before a deep frown settled on her face. She released the handle so she could wrap her arms around his shoulders, staggering on her heels.

"Hey, Bell!" she said, her voice muffled by his shoulder. "Why did you leave without saying anything?"

Bellamy hugged her back lightly before gently pulling her off.

"What are you doing home so early?" he asked, ignoring her question. He sounded just as hopeless as he had a minute ago.

Raven had kicked off her shoes and was in the kitchen now, getting a bottle of carbonated flavoured water from the fridge. Lincoln was leaning against the door frame, arms crossed, eyes on Octavia.

"I wasn't feeling well for a while," said Octavia. "Then Raven said you two guys already left, so I thought it was all right if I came back, too."

"Everyone else is staying there for a while," Raven said, walking past them to throw something in the garbage with a glance at Bellamy's state of dress.

"You guys going somewhere?" she asked, looking between him and Clarke.

As though automatically, he turned his head toward Clarke a fraction before looking back to Raven.

"I'm heading out for a little bit," he said, squeezing Octavia's arm as he passed her out the front door. "I'll be back in a few hours."

No one said anything, letting him walk away down the hallway, and Clarke didn't know if she should stop him or not.

Lincoln closed the door behind him and Octavia, leaving Clarke to blankly stare at the space where Bellamy just was. Her legs were itching to move. She wanted to go after him.

But what would she say?

"Hey, Clarke," said Raven. When Clarke looked over, Raven held up a peeled orange and tossed it at her. Clarke barely caught it. "This was on the counter."

She stared at the orange for a moment before exhaling sharply and looking up.

"This is stupid," she muttered and handed the orange to Octavia as she passed her, barefoot, and threw open the door.

"Clarke, where are you going?" Octavia called after her, but she was already running.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hashtag cliffhanger ho.
> 
> Leave a comment if you so wish, or a little bit ah dat kudos love. The resolution is next and I think it's going to be much shorter than these two chapters.
> 
> (For those of you who wanted smut this chapter, there's some of that good-good coming up next ;)
> 
> Also, shout out to that person who found me on Twitter. That was cool. Sorry this is a bit later than I said said it would be!
> 
> Thanks for reading, you guys! I hope you liked it :)) xx

**Author's Note:**

> And there we have it.  
> Leave feedback if you so desire, and constructive criticism is very much appreciated. I need to practice smut 'cause I have some sweet sex stuff planned out for two fics I'm working on rn, but I've only ever posted smut once and I think it was probably pretty bad haha.. so if you've got pointers or if this was not good, please like, tell me. I'm not kidding when I say I need the practice ahah.
> 
> Thanks for reading, all!


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